


sapphires

by songofthe52hertzwhale



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Look I just love him so much, Nicaise Lives, Serious Retconning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:00:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23202127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/songofthe52hertzwhale/pseuds/songofthe52hertzwhale
Summary: The letter proving the Regent's guilt is delivered by a different messenger.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 54





	sapphires

_ “Even if what you say is true, it does not clear Laurent of his crimes. The death of Theomedes is a matter for Akielos.” _

Damen’s mind raced. He saw flashes -- Govart’s self-satisfied smirk, the fear on a young boy’s face as he cowered in a hall, clad only in a nightdress, the tight lines around a physician’s mouth -- and struggled to connect them. He knew they must link somehow, that there must be  _ some _ way to save Laurent, the way Laurent had saved him.

His mouth opened, his eyes flickered back at Paschal. 

And then a figure stepped forward from the shadows, a full mouth set in a determined line.

“I have proof. More than enough.”

The world ground to a halt.

The flashes in his mind altered, shifting and re-focusing. He thought, idly, of how several days of decay could warp a face beyond recognition. How easily fooled a person might be, from a distance, by a string of gems woven through the wrong hair. About blue sapphires, hanging from the wrong child’s ear. 

Laurent faltered, finally, a shallow gasp slipping from between his lips.

“I have proof,” Nicaise repeated, his eyes ice-blue, “Letters, in the Regent’s own hand, that I stole from his chamber.”

They should mourn later, Damen’s mind supplied. For the poor boy taken in Nicaise’s place. For whatever peasant had been dragged into the palace, who had been killed in cold blood and trussed up as a different boy, who had been desecrated even after, with his eyes gouged out to hide the forgery.

“Surely you can’t think anyone would believe the words of a temperamental child,” the Regent snapped, though Damen noticed the way his fingers went white against the throne, “Let alone a known traitor.”

Nicaise seemed unaffected by the harsh words. His body showed every sign of a rough journey. His normally perfect clothing was mussed and torn, his hair devoid of all jewels and his skin clear of paint. There was a scar on his ear from where a sapphire had been ripped cruelly out, and he wavered on his feet, clearly exhausted.

“A traitor. Is that what you told the Council, when you faked his murder?” Laurent’s voice rang out, clear and strong, “It was done without a trial, wasn't it? That’s not proof of treason. That’s proof he had you nervous. That he knew something that you didn’t want him to. Did you think your men would find him before he got here?”

The slight tremor in Laurent’s hands were imperceptible by the rest of the room. But Damen, tuned in like nobody else, saw. He saw the way Laurent’s eyes fixed on Nicaise’s face. He saw the way his fingers flexed in his chains, as if he wanted to reach out. And he saw the flash of fear in Nicaise’s eyes, before the stony mask slipped into place.

“The letters, Councillor,” he said blandly, his voice tinged with disinterest, “If you’d like.”

It was Herode who stepped forward first. He plucked the paper from Nicaise’s hand, peering down at the scrawled words with intense focus. The other Councillors remained silent, waiting for his words.

“It is a confession,” he said, finally, “A confession from the archer that felled King Aleron. It says the Regent arranged all of it.”

Herode’s hands shook, and Damen remembered, suddenly, that he had been a friend to the late King. His eyes rose to the Regent’s face, his own expression a mix of confusion, fear, and disappointment.

Laurent was pale where he stood. Damen wondered if he knew, or if he’d only theorized.

Was this the way Laurent found out the truth of his father’s murder?

_ I didn’t think he’d really try to kill me. After everything...even after everything _ .

“You can’t believe this?” Guion said, suddenly, “The lies of a boy whore?”

“It’s true,” Paschal stepped forward next, his mouth a grim line, “Nicaise showed me the letters. They’re in my brother’s hand. He had nothing to gain from a lie. My brother killed the King, on the Regent’s orders.”

“It’s a  _ lie _ !” Guion shouted.

Herode shook his head, “It is not. We all knew...it didn’t add up, did it? We knew there was something else at play. Nicaise has more nobility in him than any of the rest of us. We’re lucky he found a way to survive, in the end,” Herode turned to the boy and offered a small nod, almost an apology, “I am pleased to see you alive and well. The Council owes you much.”

He moved forward, then, using the sceptre in his hand as a staff. Damen watched with bated breath as Herode crossed the hall, coming to a halt before Laurent.

“We were here to hold the throne in trust, and we failed you. My King.”

Laurent’s face went white with shock as Vere’s oldest Councillor fell to a knee before him. His blue eyes widened as Juerre joined, as Chelaut followed, as Audin and Mathe finally showed their respect to their true King.

The Regent argued. Guion shouted. Soldiers made their choices.

But Damen’s eyes fell instead to the young boy who had started all of this. He expected to find Nicaise’s eyes on the Regent, expected a grimace or a snarl, a look of disgust. But it wasn’t the Regent Nicaise looked to.

He looked to Laurent, instead. For the first time, his face showed the openness of a boy his age. His eyes were wide, his lips slightly parted. He looked like a child seeing the approval of a parent.

Like a young boy craving the pride of an older brother.

Distantly, Damen was aware of the Regent’s fate decided. Of a black cloth laid out, of a man brought to his knees at last.

Laurent finally turned to Nicaise.

He smiled. Genuine, wide, his eyes sparkling.

Nicaise moved forward, then stopped, hesitant, before Laurent.

“I still don’t like you,” he said petulantly, betrayed by the tremor in his voice.

“No matter,” Laurent told him, unfazed, “But it seems I owe you a great debt. We shall discuss your reward soon.”

His gaze lifted, those bright eyes meeting Damen’s.

“But perhaps after we handle a more important matter.”

For the slightest of moments, Damen failed to understand the implication. Laurent’s head tilted to the side, indicating the sole unguarded exit.

Damen’s hands clenched.

Right.

  
_ Kastor _ .


End file.
